A World Entirely Our Own
by foreverandnow
Summary: The way things could have been...what if Petunia and Vernon were the ones Voldemort killed?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've had this sitting on my computer for a while and finally feel like I have something I sort of like, though I never quite got this to be what I wanted it to be. PLEASE NOTE: Voldemort is sort of a...non-issue. There's a reason. If something seems like it doesn't make sense...don't overthink it. Go with it. This is MEANT to be a simplified tale, so accept what it is. The story will be continued in Part 2 when I get that part cleaned up in a couple of days.

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><p>I. Dudley Dursley was sixteen months old and in possession of a fierce set of lungs.<p>

Godric's Hollow was a loud, chaotic mess as the blonde boy screamed and a redhead frantically soothed and a black-haired man bent in solemn, sober discussion with a grey-haired man in purple robes. In the corner, a curly-headed man held another infant and bounced him up and down, trying to keep him calm even as he let out a distressed whimper now and then at his cousin's terrible squalling.

Lily Potter was near her wit's end trying to calm the miserable infant whose life had changed only an hour ago. Her own life had just shattered, but she couldn't think about that now, couldn't let herself feel the agony piercing her heart. She nearly collapsed when Albus Dumbledore brought the news, and she would have if not for James's arms around her and the baby resting in the old man's arms. The grief would have sent her to pieces, and they all knew that and gave her a job to do, something that ought to distract her.

But it wasn't working. As soon as Dudley was handed to his aunt, he began to wail. It reminded Lily more keenly of her failings, reminded her she had never made peace with her sister before going into hiding. She thought they were safe, when she thought of them at all. Her sister had made her intentions clear years ago, then again fifteen months ago when she sent back Harry's birth announcement unopened. Lily had cried then, a few tears for the childhood friend she would never get back, and then threw the damn thing away.

Petunia was her last link to her old life. Her parents were gone, as were James's now. The thought of being alone, of being an orphan…that was what had driven her to contact the sister who refused to come to her wedding. But she finally realised, as she held that envelope with her joyous news inside, that she was dead to her sister. So she wiped her eyes and tried to move on. She put away the lone picture she had kept of the two of them as children and replaced it with pictures of Harry and of James and his friends and of all them together, to remind her of happier times.

She never attempted to contact Petunia again. When tensions mounted and Harry's safety became even more threatened, she disappeared – quite literally – without informing her sister there was a madman after her, that he might attack her family to get to her. She thought an estranged Muggle sister would be of little consequence to anyone, but Petunia was her only living relative, and James had none.

Tonight Voldemort sent a message. Only the baby was spared, and Lily could not – would not – speculate at his survival. For now she could only rejoice that her nephew, the nephew she had never met, still lived and breathed and _sobbed_.

"Hush, my sweet," she tried to calm him, still rocking him and murmuring soft words of love and comfort. It always worked with Harry, but then again, Harry's parents had never been murdered in front of him. _Yet, anyway,_ she thought miserably. Dudley remained inconsolable, and Lily could feel her sanity fraying bit by bit by bit.

An hour ago, she was wife to James and mother to Harry. She was friend to Sirius, Remus, and Peter, and retired member of the Order of the Phoenix. She was also hunted by a maniac so her son could be stolen and destroyed to prevent him from defeating the Dark Lord, and yet somehow, she craved the simplicity of an hour ago. She craved the life before she became the only Evans left alive and the only guardian for a little boy she had never met.

"Please, don't cry, Dudley. I know you've had an awful night, Sweetheart, but Aunt Lily is here. You're safe. Hush now, darling."

On and on she went, and eventually, Harry could no longer be placated by his godfather and burst into anxious shrieks. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to prevent herself from screaming right along with the babies, but Sirius must have seen her desperation and carted her son off to his nursery. His wails still echoed all the way down the stairs, but at least the sound was a bit muffled. And then a moment later, it was completely silenced, undoubtedly by magical means.

_God bless you, Padfoot, _she thought gratefully and cuddled the baby to her breast again. He was much bigger than Harry, despite only being a month older, and it was getting awkward and exhausting to keep rocking him and speaking to him and trying to soothe away a hurt that would never heal. "Your parents hated me," she found herself telling the child. "Loathed me. They called me a freak. Your mum said it was bad and wrong, what I am. And now she's gone. My kind killed her, right in front of you. So maybe she's right, Dudley. Maybe I am."

"Lily," James gasped from behind her, and she swivelled quickly to find her husband pale and distraught. "Oh God, Lil," he murmured.

She crumpled, and Dumbledore quickly took the baby while Lily fell into her husband's arms. "James," she sobbed in agony, chest heaving in grief. "My sister, James. My…my Tuney. She's gone, and-"

"I know, Love. I know," he soothed and stroked her back. "I'm so sorry. This isn't your fault, though. You know it isn't. Not the ridiculous fight with your sister or what happened tonight. I'm so sorry."

"Lily, you truly mustn't blame yourself," Dumbledore added. The baby had grown mysteriously quiet and peaceful in the old man's arms, but Lily no longer cared if he had used some sort of magic to spell the child into happiness, so long as he quit screaming. "It is tempting, in times such as these, to ask what we could have done differently. But a different outcome is now impossible, and we must keep our goals in mind."

For the first time, Lily wanted to scream and rail at the man. How dare he stand here and remind her she could never bring her sister back? She knew death was forever; she'd seen more than her fair share by the age of 21. She could not take back the horrid things she thought and said about her sister, she could not go back and warn her sister or send her into hiding, and she could not even hug the very last member of her family. When was the last time she told Petunia she loved her? When was the last time they looked at one another with anything but contempt?

It was all too much, and for a terrible moment, Lily considered telling the old man she could not raise this child alongside Harry. She was no better than a stranger to him, and his parents would have preferred an actual stranger over her to raise their child. Raising Petunia's son in a magical home would be the ultimate insult to her dead sister and brother-in-law. Vernon had a sister, didn't he? Perhaps she wasn't as well-suited to protect the child, but at least it wouldn't be spitting on the graves that hadn't even yet been dug.

It was on the tip of her tongue to turn down guardianship, to insist Dumbledore find someone else, and then James reached out and scooped the crying baby from the Headmaster's arms. Dudley's cries grew at first, but James was no stranger to crying babies. Harry was generally a good-natured little thing, giggly and sweet and affectionate, but he could also scream bloody murder with the right combination of sleep deprivation and irritation. James knew what he was doing and expertly tucked the boy into his arms and rocked him gently, murmuring quiet words Lily could not hear. Amazingly, his touch and his voice did something to the infant. Dudley slowly began to calm, his wails dwindling to a few hiccupping cries before finally subsiding altogether.

"That's it, Buddy," James told the baby. "We've got you now. You'll be all right. We'll take care of you."

And that was all it took. She didn't have the energy to care that James could calm him when she couldn't. All that mattered was that Dudley had finally stopped crying, that he was quiet and safe in her husband's arms. He was the last link to a sister she would never see or speak to again, and she could protect him as no one else could. She may have failed Petunia, but she could atone for that by loving her son as her own, by raising him, by protecting him for the rest of his life. It could be different for him. He could grow up around magic and live without fear, he could be a friend and brother to her Harry. They could do this. They could be a family. They _had_ to.

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><p>II. Dudley Dursley was four years old and prone to nightmares. They started a few months after his parents were killed, but they were manageable until just recently. Six months after he moved in with the Potters, James's wife had accidentally discovered that the boys had a soothing effect on each other and went down much better if they had one another for company. Before that, they had taken a sort of tag-team approach to bedtimes, with one parent taking each child and trying in vain to calm them. Once their effect on one another was discovered, the boys were promptly moved into the same bedroom.<p>

When the nightmares first began, Dudley was easily soothed and went right back to sleep, sometimes without waking Harry at all. But lately, his screams continued until he woke his cousin. Even after he woke from the frightening dream, he would cry his little lungs out until they had no choice but to carry him off to the other bedroom so he might allow Harry to sleep. James or Lily would sit with him, holding him close and rocking him, until he could finally be hushed enough to fall asleep in the guest bedroom and then be carried back to his own bed.

They were exhausted and overwhelmed and miserable at their inability to help the child. He was much more temperamental than Harry and didn't take well to the lack of sleep, resulting in the first ugly altercations between the boys. Just this morning, poor Harry had suffered quite the blow when his bigger cousin knocked him over and caused him to hit his head on the floor. James suspected it was more the shock than the pain that set his son to wailing, but Lily had been beside herself and insisted a Healer come see to the growing lump on their little boy's head. Just a bump, the Healer declared, but Harry had been sentenced to bed anyway as a precaution. Lily stayed with him most of the day, making sure he wasn't too rattled or in too much pain.

It was days like today that James worried most about his little family. He had not once regretted taking Dudley in after his parents were killed, and he loved the child more than he ever thought possible. He and Lily always talked about having more than one child, but they just hadn't expected it to happen like this. They wanted to wait until Voldemort was gone, and they had never expected to have two children so terribly close in age. It meant the boys shared nearly every milestone, and it was difficult to make sure neither ever felt slighted. But there was also the added weight of the Prophecy. Try as she might to treat the boys the same, there was no denying that Harry was still in danger. Lily worried about them both, but there was an added terror with Harry, and their seclusion away from the world tormented her more each day. Lately the paranoia was reaching epic heights, and every sniffle or cough from Harry had his wife near hysterics.

The bump on the head today pushed her past her limits. Harry was very much wanted by the most evil wizard in the world, and the daily, hourly, minute-by-minute threat to his life was fraying her nerves until James wasn't quite sure she could take much more. Every sniffle and every cough had her tucking the boy in bed, fretting over whether they ought to Floo St. Mungo's. Every stumble and trip and bruise sent her to tears. Poor Harry wasn't sure what to make of his mum's fussing, and James worried how Dudley must feel about the extra coddling his cousin received. He was too young to understand, and every time Lily went to Harry first or held onto him a bit too long, James wondered what it was doing to a fragile little mind that saw too much, heard too much, and felt too much. Someday, someday very soon, he might start to believe he was less important – less _loved_ – than Harry, because he wasn't their son.

Even worse, a time was soon coming that Harry's tiny bursts of accidental magic would become more and more apparent. What were they going to do the day Dudley realised he was the only one in his family without magic? What if he someday believed _that_ was the reason Harry was treated differently?

The worries kept James awake even as Lily slept on in complete, utter exhaustion. He was awake, then, when the screams erupted from the boys' room, this time followed almost immediately by a pattering of small feet as the panicked child bolted to safety. James was already sitting up to receive the little bundle of boy when Dudley barrelled into the room, miserable tears pouring down his pale face.

"Hey, Buddy," James greeted quietly, though the tears would certainly wake Lily any second now. "Bad dream?" he asked sympathetically as Dudley clambered for him. He scooped the child up and deposited him in the bed just as Lily stirred.

"Duddy?" she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Her concerned query was met with only more sobs from the overwrought little boy.

"It's all right, little mate," James soothed, gently repositioning the boy between them and rubbing his back to calm him. "It was just a dream, Buddy."

"I-I saw Mummy!" Dudley wailed, and James felt a churning in his gut as Lily reacted as though she'd been punched. She'd never gotten over the death of her sister, and he suspected she never would. How could she? How could anyone? The mere thought of anything happening to Sirius could send James to pieces, and they weren't even real brothers. The distance between Lily and Petunia in the last years of Petunia's life made the grief – and guilt – that much worse.

"Lily," he said quietly. "You go check Harry. I'll-"

"No," she shook her head, and he recognised a spark of determination in her green eyes, a spark he hadn't seen in years now. "It's all right, Love," she told her nephew and cuddled him close. "I have you now."

"B-b-but," Dudley wailed, hiccoughing through his sobs.

"I know," Lily murmured. "I know. But it was just a dream, Love. Your mummy is safe now, where no one can hurt her. And I have you here with me. Nothing will ever hurt you here."

"I want my mum!" Dudley sobbed, and James felt himself moved to tears. Most of the time, Dudley was perfectly content to be here with them. It was rare that he expressed a desire for his parents, mostly because he probably remembered very little about them. But it was harder than he ever imagined to hear the boy cry for his mum, knowing it could never be, knowing that he would always feel that ache in his heart for the woman who would never hold him, never kiss him, never hug him again. He moved his hand to Dudley's hair and carded his fingers through the locks, needing to _do_ something.

"I want her, too," Lily confessed softly as she took up to the task of rubbing circles on Dudley's back. "I miss her every day, Love. But you know what?" she asked him gently. "She's here, watching over you."

"She is?" Dudley sniffled.

"She is," Lily confirmed. "And your daddy, too. They both loved you so very much, and they will always be watching over you to make sure you're safe."

"But I want them here," Dudley protested pitifully.

"I know you do," Lily nodded. "But when you're sad, you can always come

and talk to me. Always, Love. You know that, right?" she asked, and the anxiety in her voice told James she knew what she had done, knew that she was hurting him even though she hated herself for doing it. "I love you, Duddy, very much," she whispered. "You're my sweet little boy, and I will _always_ love you," she promised.

"And Unca James?" Dudley sniffled.

"Course, Buddy," James confirmed. "You're my little mate."

Dudley snuggled against his aunt and let himself be comforted. James continued to stroke his hair, and the three of them laid like that for the next half an hour until Dudley wore himself out and fell asleep between his aunt and uncle.

"Let him stay," Lily requested just as James started to pick the boy up and carry him back to his room. "Let's just let him stay here tonight."

"All right," he agreed evenly.

"This is my fault," she said after a long, heavy silence passed between them.

"Not this again," he shook his head. "What happened to your sister-"

"Not that," she cut him off. "He hasn't asked for her since he was still a baby. I was so angry with him today for hurting Harry. For an instant…God, just an instant, James…I wished…"

"I know," he stopped her to spare her from having to say it aloud. He knew she would torture herself for even thinking it, though he suspected her brief moment of resentment towards her nephew was entirely normal. Even if he was her son, she would have been angry with him for pushing Harry. It was luck Harry hadn't been hurt worse, and Dudley was quite a bit bigger and needed to be careful in the future, or little accidents might be much worse.

"I'm horrible," she lamented. "I'm just so scared for Harry, all the time, and it makes me insane. I don't want to treat them differently. I don't want Dudley to think…"

"Look at him, Lily," James suggested gently, turning her attention back to the sleeping child so content in her arms. "He adores you."

"He does now. But it's started, James, and I don't know how to do this."

"He's not our son," he shrugged. "He's going to understand that more and more as he gets older. We can't get around that. But he knows we love him, and he comes to us when he's scared. We'll get through it."

"I made him doubt it, though. Four years old, and he's scared that I don't love him like I love Harry," she shook her head in self-loathing.

"Lil, it's never going to be the same for them, and the Prophecy…it's never going to be easy."

"You're not making me feel better."

He chuckled humourlessly and carefully leaned across his sleeping nephew to kiss her on the forehead. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I've been worried, too, but at least you know that this is there, and I know you're never going to let him hurt. We'll get through it," he repeated. "It's going to end soon. And then we'll just be a family."

Lily's voice was surprisingly vulnerable when she answered. "A happy one?"

James looked down at the little blonde child tucked close to his wife's chest, his face peaceful and angelic in sleep. "Yes," he murmured. "Always."

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><p>III. Dudley Dursley was six years old and starting Primary School in the morning. It was a year of firsts for the Potter family; they had been mysteriously liberated from Voldemort's tyranny, but the lack of any concrete proof of his demise had made James and Lily cautious about rejoining the world. The boys were a year late in starting school, but they were not the only kids at their school whose parents had educated them at home for a time while Voldemort still terrorised their world.<p>

After much debate, Lily and James had agreed to send the boys to a mixed school that taught both Muggles and Magical children. Lily held fast, for a time, to her desire to see both boys in Muggle school, where Dudley would probably feel more at home and Harry could learn a bit more about Muggle life. She worried about Dudley, who still had little to say about his lack of magical ability. Still, she worried more about the possibility of evil in the world, and in the end, she conceded.

"We can't forget about Voldemort, Lily," her husband had insisted as their heated debate entered its third hour.

"He's gone," she argued, albeit weakly.

"I don't want to believe in prophecies, but Harry's never encountered him. Nothing ever happened. I just want him prepared, if it ever comes to it."

And that was that. Once more, Lily made her decision based on Harry's safety instead of Dudley's happiness. It seemed Dudley was always getting the short end of the stick, and it made it all the more clear to Lily why the rift ever occurred between her and her sister. Some days it felt so impossible to balance raising these two very different children without harming one of them, without one of them feeling less special or less loved. If she tried to pay extra attention to Dudley, Harry felt cheated out of his fair share of affection. If she doted on Harry, she worried that Dudley felt left out because he was different.

Laughter from the back garden tore Lily from her conflicted thoughts. She looked out the large window over her sink to see both of her boys completely covered in mud and giggling in hysterics as they played with some common object turned into fanciful toy. The worries abated a bit, and she relaxed against the counter to watch the boys play.

Harry and Dudley could not be more different. Harry was a tiny mirror image of his father – emphasis on the tiny. He hadn't hit a growth spurt yet and was a small, gangly thing. He was lean, like his father, undoubtedly thanks to his nearly endless supply of energy, but he was also on the shorter side of normal. He was completely, perfectly healthy, so Lily knew he would someday shoot up like James had. Dudley, on the other hand, inherited his father's larger stature. He was over a head taller than Harry, and quite a bit heavier. He would likely always be prone to weight problems, but Harry kept him running all the time, and Lily always made sure they were eating properly. She was certain her Dudley would turn out just fine, and probably be excellent at any sport he wanted to try. Lucky for Harry, being a Quidditch star wouldn't require a bulky build.

But it was more than just appearance that separated the boys. Harry was loud, playful, and mischievous just like his dad, though also sweet and a bit sensitive. Dudley could get roped into his cousin's schemes, but he was rarely the mastermind behind mischievous plots. He was quieter than Harry and usually preferred more sedate activities like reading books and watching the telly. Harry rarely sat still long enough for that sort of thing. Dudley was simply more serious than his cousin, and Lily would always wonder how much of that was just Dudley and how much of it was the trauma he experienced at a very young age.

At the moment, it didn't seem to matter. The boy playing outside was not the picture of tragedy he could have been. In fact, if he smiled much wider his face might crack. It seemed their differences never mattered a bit to Harry and Dudley. They were thick as thieves and didn't fight nearly as much as Lily expected. They were so close in age that they simply did everything together, and as they had grown, so had their affection for one another. She used to worry that Dudley would be too rough with Harry, due to his size, but he had become much more mindful of his smaller cousin. She worried that Harry would be careless about magic and inadvertently leave Dudley out, but her son was more sensitive than that and seemed to just understand what Lily had never explicitly explained. She caught him, from time to time, glancing over at Dudley when something magical happened, making sure he didn't feel left out, cheering him up if he seemed at all glum.

They were a family. The mantle was overflowing with the evidence of it, photos of their happy little family covering every spare inch of it. There was the four of them together in several pictures, and various combinations of child and adult, but mostly, there was Dudley and Harry playing together, Dudley and Harry laughing together, Dudley and Harry in a rare moment of quiet amusement together. They were friends and brothers, and it warmed Lily's heart to see them both so happy and carefree in their play with one another.

Dudley was not so carefree when he returned home from his first day of school. His eyes were rimmed with red, and Harry kept making jokes and acting silly in a vain effort to stop his cousin's pitiful sniffles. James had come home from work early to celebrate the occasion, and he tossed Lily a worried look as Dudley abandoned his backpack and hurried up the stairs to his room.

"I'll go," she offered, and James nodded and scooped up Harry to interrogate him about his first day.

"Dudley?" she asked as she knocked softly on the door to the room he still shared with Harry. They had offered to let the boys have their own rooms now, but both had been horrified at the idea.

"Go away," Dudley mumbled and sniffled.

"I can't do that, Love. You're upset. May I come in?"

"No!" he answered irritably, but Lily didn't listen and let herself in anyway.

"Dudley, what is it, Sweetheart? Did you not like school?" she asked worriedly, slowly sinking down on his bed and placing a steadying hand on his back. He was shuddering a bit, and she suspected he was fighting very hard not to cry. "Dudley?" she prodded gently. "Did something happen at school today?"

Dudley suddenly flipped over and pulled his blanket over himself, promptly and effectively pushing her away. Stung, Lily drew back and considered for a moment. When it became clear Dudley didn't want her here, she leaned down and kissed the top of his head, then tugged the blanket to make sure it was wrapped securely around him before leaving the room.

Downstairs, Harry was chattering his dad's ear off telling him all about school. Despite her concern for Dudley, Lily stood quietly for a moment and listened to her son go. Clearly his day had gone much better than Dudley's, and he was exuberantly relating every detail of his day.

After a few minutes, Harry finally paused to take a breath. Lily seized her opportunity and stepped into the kitchen, dropping a kiss to her son's cheek. "Harry, did something happen to upset Dudley today?"

Harry's grin instantly dropped as he nodded his head. "What is it, Cub?" James asked worriedly. "Was someone mean to him?"

Harry shook his head and pointed to his backpack. Later, they would discuss the fact that both boys had dropped the bags in the hallway instead of hanging them up. For now, she picked up the backpack and unzipped it, pulling out a crinkled paper with figures painted in Harry's childish hand.

In an instant, she had deduced the problem. And it wasn't at all as she suspected.

Tears filled her eyes as she gazed down at Harry's simple portrait of his family. In clumsy, awkward scrawl, he had labelled each person in his picture: Mum, Dad, Me, Dudley.

"Lil?" James asked worriedly.

"You two have a snack," she managed to choke out.

James looked concerned, but he nodded and mussed his son's hair as he guided him to the pantry to rummage for something to eat.

Picture still in hand, Lily returned upstairs to the boys' room and found Dudley still hiding beneath his blankets. Steeling herself for tears or anger, Lily sat down on the bed and gently tugged down the comforter to reveal a tear-streaked face. "Will you show me the painting you did today, Love?" she asked softly.

Dudley only shook his head.

"Did Ms. Borden ask you to paint a picture of your family?" she tried again.

Dudley didn't answer for a long, long time, and then he burst into tears. Lily quickly gathered him into his arms, trying to ignore the fact that he was getting too big to be cuddled in her lap.

He cried for a solid ten minutes as Lily held him and combed his hair and rubbed his back and pressed her lips to his forehead as she rocked him gently back and forth. When he finally started to calm, Lily gently brushed tears off his cheek with her thumbs. "It's all right, Sweetheart," she murmured.

Dudley sniffled and shook his head. "I wish you were my mum," he confessed.

It broke her heart, and now she was holding back tears. "Oh Dudley," she whispered.

"I know you aren't really, but can't we pretend?" he asked plaintively. "And Uncle James could be my dad."

"Tell me what happened today, Dudley," she requested. "Did someone say something mean?"

"Everyone knows," he mumbled. "That I don't have a mum and dad."

"But no one said something cruel?" she asked hopefully. He shook his head, and she felt a small fraction better. His heartache was still very real, but at least he wasn't being taunted at school for living with his aunt and uncle.

"Why can't you be my mum? I don't remember my real one really. I…sometimes I pretend," he confessed. "Sometimes I pretend I'm really yours."

"You _are_ really mine, Dudley," she countered firmly. "No matter what you call me, you are my boy and you always will be. Even when you are all grown up and wish I would just leave you alone."

"I won't," Dudley shook his head. "Not ever."

It was a sweet sentiment, and she wished it could be true. "You will," she squeezed him tight, "but that's all right. It won't matter. Because I love you forever, Dudley, just like Uncle James does. And Harry, too. We are family, Love, no matter what you call us."

"Then why can't I just call you Mum?" he persisted. "Everyone asked me questions."

Lily sighed and wished she had thought to go speak to his teacher about their special situation. She had assumed there would be other children who were raised by stepparents or grandparents or other various relatives and that it wouldn't be an issue, but obviously having to tell the other children that he had no mum and dad had been harder on Dudley than she expected. "Dudley, I want you to listen to me really well, and be my big boy, all right?" she asked.

"Yes, Aunt Lily," he nodded seriously.

"I love you just as though you were my son. I love you every bit as much as I love Harry and I don't ever want you to doubt that. But I also want you to always remember that you had a mum and dad who loved you more than anything in the whole world," she explained. "And I know it's difficult because you don't really remember them, but your mum…she was my sister. And I want to make sure that we always remember her and hold her in our hearts."

"Do you think she would be mad that I sometimes think of you as my mum and not her?"

Lily had to take a deep breath before she could answer. Honestly, she did worry sometimes that her sister would hate her for raising her boy. Petunia had been jealous of her for so many years, and now she had usurped Petunia's most important role, the thing that most defined her. But Petunia truly did love Dudley more than anything, and she had to believe that no matter what, Petunia would want Dudley happy. "No, Love," she shook her head. "I don't think she would be mad at all. She loved you. And that means that all she ever cared about was _you_."

"Does it make you mad?" Dudley asked uncertainly. "You have a real son, and-"

"Stop," Lily cut him off. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again. I will never, ever be mad at you for something like that. All right?"

"All right," he agreed quietly.

"We're your family, Dudley," she reminded him. "Next time, you just tell all the kids that your aunt and uncle couldn't be more proud to call you theirs."

Dudley cuddled into her side, and Lily closed her eyes and imagined her

sister. _Thank you, Petunia, _she thought silently. _Thank you for giving me your beautiful boy. We're doing our best. I hope you know how wonderful he is._

Late that night, when the boys were sleeping and James was downstairs playing Wizard's Chess with Sirius, Lily crept to the attic and pulled out an old box of hidden away treasures. She hunted for close to an hour before finding the picture she wanted, the single snapshot she had from her sister's wedding day. That was before their parents died, before Petunia could truly excommunicate her sister. She hadn't been pleased by Lily's appearance, but Lily wanted so desperately to be there.

The next morning, a picture of Petunia and Vernon on their wedding day had joined the dozens of photographs on the mantle.

* * *

><p>IV. Dudley Dursley was nine years old, and now, so was his cousin. As it turned out, nine was a very special birthday for Harry. It was the year James finally convinced Lily their son was old enough for a real broom, one to play Quidditch with, a quick one for him to practise his Seeking on. James had once hoped his little one would follow in his footsteps and play Chaser, but the moment he saw the boy with a Snitch, he knew his son was destined for greatness. Lily had been worried about buying him a real racing broom, but there was no denying his natural talent. Even on his child's broom, he was always performing miraculous stunts and pushing it to top speeds. He had clearly outgrown the safety broom, as much as Lily hated to admit it.<p>

And so, as promised, Harry received his first Nimbus on his ninth birthday. The month before, Dudley had his own birthday and received a mountain of wonderful presents. There were books and toys and even a computer, since they knew Harry was getting a special present in a few weeks. They had enlisted the help of another Muggleborn friend to help them set it up in his bedroom, and Lily had done a few complicated charms to keep it from frying up in the presence of so much magic.

James couldn't be more excited about giving his son his first real broom. Flying had been their special thing since Harry was a toddler on his little baby broom from Sirius. That was Dad and Harry time, always, and he could spend hours in the garden giving Harry pointers and beaming with pride as he flew. He was already anxious for the day Harry joined the House team, and he couldn't help watching his boy without dreaming of the many Quidditch matches he would watch over the next few years.

James was so excited that he didn't really think about how Dudley must feel as Harry opened his new present and whooped in delight. He was so excited that he spent three hours playing with Harry in the garden without thinking about Dudley alone in his room. He was so excited that when they came in for birthday dinner with flushed cheeks and identical grins and found Dudley reading quietly on the sofa, he felt like the world's biggest arse. Lily gave her husband an obvious look of reproach, but Dudley asked his cousin all the polite questions about his new broom. Harry answered them all, never noticing the envy practically dripping from Dudley's face.

James's nephew picked at dinner, even though it was one of his favourites. He even turned down a piece of cake and asked instead to go to his room. Lily shot James a look, and he dutifully took off after his nephew. "Dud?" he asked as he knocked on the door.

"Come in," Dudley answered listlessly.

"All right, Buddy?" he asked, clapping his nephew on the shoulder.

Dudley just shrugged. It made James feel like utter rubbish, and even though he knew there was nothing he could ever do to fully ease Dudley's worries, he should have paid more attention to how the boy was faring today. The boys were surprisingly wonderful together, and magic was rarely an issue between them. But there was no denying that growing up without magic in an entirely magical household was difficult for Dudley. Lily was Muggleborn, but she'd spent the better part of the last two decades around magic and wasn't at all up to date on the Muggle world. Dudley was the odd one out, and James had sworn to make sure the boy never felt less special for it.

Today, he got so wrapped up in the excitement that he forgot all about that vow. "I think I owe you an apology, Buddy," he said sadly. "I may have gotten a bit too excited about the new broom."

"It's okay," Dudley answered quietly.

"No, it isn't," James shook his head and eased himself down to the bed. Dudley flipped over to face the wall, turning his eyes from his uncle. Now James officially felt like an evil git, and he had no idea how to make it right. "Hey," he murmured. "Will you please look at me, Buddy?"

"It's okay, Uncle James. I just want to be alone now."

"I want to talk to you," James countered, refusing to give up. Dudley wanted to sulk right now, and James understood that; he could brood with the best of them. But if he left Dudley alone, the boy would come up with all the worst ideas and wallow in his self-pity.

"You gave me lots of presents for my birthday. I got stuff that Harry didn't get."

"I know, Buddy, but you don't have to pretend with me. I know it isn't the same. I couldn't work that gadget we got you if my life depended on it."

"I'm different," Dudley said firmly. "You don't have to pretend I'm not. I'm not…I'm not special like Harry. I just want to be sad for a while."

James's heart lurched, and he couldn't help reaching out to place a hand on his nephew's back. "Dudley, you know better than that. You know your Aunt Lily and I think you are every bit as wonderful and special as Harry."

"But I'm not magic," Dudley protested. "And I used to think I could be, but I'm not a stupid kid anymore. I'm not ever going to be like you and Harry and Aunt Lily."

"You won't," James agreed, "but you _are_ incredibly special. Sometimes it's hard," he admitted. "Sometimes I don't know what to say or what to do. I've never lived without magic, so I don't know what it's like. But it doesn't mean I don't want to try. And it doesn't mean that you are _less_ than Harry. Not in any way, Buddy," he insisted.

Dudley shrugged and refused to look at his uncle. James sat for a moment, rubbing slow circles on his nephew's back, wishing he was better at all of this. Truth be told, it was harder with Dudley than it was Harry. Harry was so much like him, with amazing bits of Lily interspersed, but Dudley…Dudley was just more of a mystery to him. And it wasn't solely the magic problem. Dudley was just an entirely different creature, and James loved him desperately, but sometimes he felt completely in over his head raising the boy. Of course Dudley had picked up bits of their personalities along the way, but he still had bits of his parents, as well. James had never claimed to know Petunia well, and he knew Vernon even less. Unlike Lily, he didn't have a bond with Petunia, not nearly enough to forge the connection with Dudley.

He always believed love would be enough. At the moment, it seemed woefully lacking. So instead of saying anything, he just sat with his nephew and mused over the last eight years with him. There was so much he loved about this kid. He was funny, in an unexpected way. Harry was sarcastic and a magnet for mischief, while Dudley's humour was a bit more subdued. Still, he cracked James up when he least expected it. And Dudley was also a sweet child. When the boys were little, it was Dudley who always wanted a cuddle. Harry was affectionate, but he rarely sat still. Dudley would curl up on the couch next to his uncle and read with him, or just sit while James read the paper or worked. Dudley was just his buddy, and he always would be. Now to make him understand.

"Listen, Dudley," he said quietly. "Our family is not our family without you. You belong with us, and I know it isn't always easy. But we love you so much, and a new broom doesn't change that."

"I just…I want to be special. Like Harry," Dudley admitted, the vulnerability in his voice crushing James. Sometimes it seemed nothing they did would ever convince Dudley he was a part of this family as much as Harry was. Somewhere along the line, Dudley had become his other son. Maybe they'd never go to Ollivander's together, or play Quidditch, or whisper the secrets of Hogwarts, but that hadn't mattered in years. What mattered was the time they spent together, talking something out or having a laugh or making a giant mess of things in the kitchen. What mattered was the pride James felt every time he looked at this boy and how he couldn't imagine a world without this kid right here next to him.

"You are special, Dud," he insisted. "Who always looks out for Harry for us? You never let the other kids bully him, and you keep him from some of his more…reckless…ideas."

"Yeah, I guess," Dudley shrugged.

"You've always kept him safe, Buddy. You're his protector."

"That's just one thing."

"There are a million things, Dud. You make us laugh. You're smart. You're great at that rugby game, and I can't wait to see you play a match. You know, I think you ought to teach me how it goes. Then we could try it together, yeah?"

"Really?" Dudley asked uncertainly.

"Sure, mate. Just us boys. How does that sound?"

"Yeah," Dudley agreed quietly. "That sounds…good. Really good."

"Will you look at me now?"

Dudley sat up and smiled sheepishly at his uncle. "Sorry," he apologised.

"No need to be sorry, Buddy. I got wrapped up in the new broom today, and I acted like an idiot."

"Aunt Lily says you are an idiot," Dudley teased.

"Cheeky bugger," James accused, cuffing him lightly on the arm, then pulled him into a crushing hug. He mussed the boy's hair, then sobered once more and kissed his nephew on the forehead. "Look, Dudley, things aren't going to get easier for us. In two years, Harry's off to Hogwarts. Everything will change. But you're mine, understand? You're mine, and that doesn't change."

Dudley nodded, but there was a hint of hesitation. "I wish I could fly like you and Harry."

"Me too, Buddy. But you're a little more breakable than Harry, and I prefer to keep you all in one piece."

"That's a good idea."

"I love you, Dud."

"Yeah, I know. Love you, too."

* * *

><p>V. Dudley Dursley was seventeen years old, and his cousin was finally home. It had been nearly a year since Harry walked out the door, refusing to tell his parents and his cousin where he was going, refusing to let them in on his secret mission. Lily watched her baby boy walk out the front door, heard the familiar crack of Apparition, then collapsed to her knees and sobbed.<p>

James was first to her side, and then Dudley. And the three of them knelt at the door and cried without shame. For days, Dudley was her rock, her only consolation. He sat beside her and steadied her as they listened to the Wireless. He cooked the meals, he made the distraught parents eat, he forced them to go to bed and stop watching the sky for news. And then, after two solid weeks without a word from Harry, it became terribly clear the war was here and Harry wouldn't be home until it was over.

Those were the dark days, the days when Dudley raged at his helplessness and hurtled things in his anger. He broke vases and frames and once even a beloved gift from Harry, which caused him to weep bitterly for hours until James pieced it back together with a spell. The reality of war he could not fight tore him apart as nothing had done since he was nine years old and so afraid of being different. Dudley felt far away, on those days, filled with bitterness towards a world that relegated him to the sidelines while Harry received all the glory and the fame and all the danger and all the scars.

But even in the darkness, Lily rejoiced. She had done something right. Dudley's hurt was not about jealousy, but love. He did not envy Harry's power or fame; he wanted to protect him, as he always had. He wanted to stand beside his brother in battle, and instead he was locked away in a house with only his aunt and uncle and the wireless for company. Dudley had always looked out for his smaller cousin, protecting him from schoolyard bullies and keeping him from harm, and now he was useless, now he could only wait and pray. And pray he did. They all did. Together. And it was a balm on Lily's heart, a tiny piece of comfort during the worst time of her life. At the end of all things, the boys she raised loved each other, would die for each other. There was a beauty in the pain, and she had to believe it meant something, that something so precious and wonderful would not be ripped apart by death.

It was an unseasonably bleak, rainy day in May when Harry staggered in covered in dirt and blood and grime. Lily was the first to spot him, and she cried in disbelief and opened her arms as her boy nearly collapsed.

He was home. He was finally, finally home.

They didn't talk about the war that night. They didn't talk about Harry's victory. Dudley coaxed his cousin into the bathroom, ordered him to take a shower, and sat outside the bathroom to make sure he was all right. When Harry emerged, haggard and painfully thin but wearing the most beautiful smile Lily had ever seen, she knew there would be no talk of battles or long, cold nights. There would be no talk of death, though she could feel it seeping off of her son. He had seen it, he had felt it, but he was home.

"You look good, Dud," Harry told his cousin as they all sat awkwardly at the kitchen table.

"You look like shite," Dudley returned.

The boys laughed together, and Lily had never heard a more beautiful sound. They spent the night pretending they'd never been apart, and as their laughter rang through the house and James's arms went around her waist, she could almost believe it was true.

Harry fell asleep at nine o'clock on the sofa. Dudley draped a blanket over his cousin's sleeping form, and Lily leaned into her husband. "Our boys," she whispered.

"Yeah," he murmured and kissed the top of her head. "Our little boys."

"Not so little," she countered, wondering what Harry would see in his dreams tonight and wishing she could take it all away.

"I still remember the first time I held them both."

"Me too," she breathed, thinking first of her own baby, her own sweet son. How beautiful he had been, in those first hours of his life, his hair so soft and fine, his cheeks so wonderfully plump and flush. That tiny little boy grew up to save them all, but that hardly mattered to her now. He was here with her, breathing and whole, and it was all she had ever wanted from the moment she first felt the tiny voice of life inside of her.

Dudley tucked the blanket more securely around his cousin, and Lily managed a watery smile as she remembered the first time she'd held her nephew. It was an entirely different experience, and she recalled wanting to give him back, wanting someone else to take him. What a mistake that would have been, what a hole it would have left in her heart. That squalling, miserable baby had grown into a man capable of incredible love, and as proud as she was of Harry, she was equally proud of Dudley. He had stayed home this year, like Harry requested, looking out for his aunt and uncle and never complaining, no matter how scared and angry he felt. He grew up so different from the rest of his family, but he never let the differences define him. He grew into his own man, and when it came down to it, he put his family first and stood beside them through the darkest days of their lives.

"Night, Aunt Lil," her nephew smiled. "Night, Uncle James."

"Night, Buddy," James sighed in contentment.

"Goodnight, Love," Lily murmured, watching as he disappeared up the stairs to his room. And as he went, Lily felt a presence sweep through her, one she hadn't felt in many, many years. "James," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I'm so proud of them. So proud of them both."

"Me too, Love."

"Do you think…would Petunia hate me?" she asked quietly. "She never would have wanted Dudley around magic. Now it's changed his whole life, and…I just want her to be as proud as I am."

"She would be, Lily," her husband murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. "How could she not?"

"I didn't do anything she would have wanted. I raised him around magic. I exposed him to this whole world that she never wanted to be a part of. I don't know," she shook her head. "He's such a special boy. I just wish I could talk to her."

James was quiet for a long moment as he stroked his fingers through her hair. "At the end of the day, Lil, you were both mothers," he murmured after a while. "Petunia protected Dudley with her life, just as you would protect Harry. She knew how precious these boys were. She'd be so proud of the way you've raised him, and I think you know, in your heart, she'd have done the same for Harry."

Lily gazed once more at her sleeping son and felt the overwhelming love squeezing her heart. "Yes," she agreed softly. "Yes, she would."

_TBC in Part 2_


	2. Chapter 2

_Part Two_

VI. Petunia woke in a cold sweat with tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at her face with clumsy hands, startled to feel her own clammy skin and realise she was real and solid. Moments ago she had been dead…hadn't she? She remembered watching, observing, but feeling entirely apart and unseen. As her eyes and ears adjusted in the dark stillness of the night, she heard her own breathing and her own rapid heartbeat.

_Alive. Still alive_, she thought in relief. Had it all been a dream? She slowly rolled over, still adjusting to her corporeal form, and blinked at the clock. Only an hour had passed since she laid down to sleep. How was that possible? A lifetime had just passed before her, a life where her Lily was still alive, a life where her poor little boy had grown up an orphan and yet entirely surrounded by love.

_Lily_. Her heart sank to her stomach as she realised her sister must still be gone. There had been an instant, in the dream (if it was truly a dream at all), where she had felt so relieved, so overjoyed to find her beloved Lily still alive. She never thought it possible, but her ghostly self had been happy for Lily, happy she had lived even if Petunia herself did not. Such a beautiful little family, so full of love, so full of forgiveness. She thought of that cosy house and its ever-present warmth, thought of the mantle and the photographs so lovingly displayed. A portrait from her own wedding sat next to the more thrilling one of Lily and James kissing at their wedding and then laughing in delight.

Petunia's heart hurt as she realised it was a figment of her overactive subconscious; she'd never even seen a picture of her sister's wedding. Her baby sister grew up and married a funny, handsome, charming man, and she hadn't even been there to witness their bliss, to stand beside the little girl she had loved as she became a woman and married the man of her dreams, the man who would give her a spectacular life and a beautiful child.

She suddenly bolted upright as she thought of the black-haired boy in that strange other world. In her dream, Harry was a sweet boy with a huge heart, a good friend – a good _brother_ – to her Dudley and a brave, talented, quick-witted boy. More tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembered the sound of his laughter mingled with Dudley's and the racket they made exploding things and zooming about the house. That darling boy had a brilliant smile so reminiscent of his mum's, and it lit up a room and always cheered Dudley out of a strop.

But not here. That smile didn't exist in this world. She couldn't remember hearing that laugh, not even once, and Dudley's laughter came most often at his expense. _Freak,_ Dudley called him in this world; in that one, he called him brother.

The words of her brother-in-law taunted and mocked her now. _"At the end of the day, Lil, you were both mothers. Petunia protected Dudley with her life, just as you would protect Harry. She knew how precious these boys were. She'd be so proud of the way you've raised him, and I think you know, in your heart, she'd have done the same for Harry."_

But she hadn't. She hadn't at all. She had mistreated him, hated him, even. She scorned him, turned him away even when he looked to her with those green eyes so full of desperate need and desire. Just this very morning, those green eyes had turned to her begging for understanding, and she had turned him away. He had been ill for days now, but as was his way, he had not complained or turned to her for comfort. She had worried about his freak germs infecting her sweet Dudley, and so there had been no mothering, no fussing. And at the age of four, Harry did not expect it.

This morning he broke his resigned silence and finally cried in his misery. It had not awakened a dormant conscience; she had allowed Vernon to reprimand him for his impertinence, and she had watched without compunction as the sick little boy was punished and then ignored.

But the dream changed everything. She could not explain it now, could not begin to understand, but she had seen what could have been, and she had seen what her nephew could have become. Would he have any chance of being that brave, sweet boy without the love and support of a family? Would she warp and twist him if she refused him, time and time again?

That was a chance she refused to take. Without hesitation, she was up and out of the bed, hurrying to the cupboard where Vernon had chucked him earlier in the day and ordered him to stop his whining. Her stomach churned violently as she threw off the lock, wondering what sort of monsters they had become to bolt a sick four-year old boy into a cupboard.

The sight of him pale and sweaty and clutching his tatty blanket to his tiny body made her sob in guilt and agony. How could she have done this to Lily's boy? What had gone so wrong, what had twisted her heart so? There was once a time when she loved Lily as much as she could love any person, but time had turned her against her dear sister, and the years had torn them apart until Lily and her family were strangers to her and her boy was an unwanted nuisance. He ought to be treasured, loved, protected, as Dudley had been in her dreams. As she clutched the feverish child to her chest, she knew it was no ordinary dream; Lily and James would have loved her son and treated him as their own. She had treated theirs like vermin.

But no more. Never again. From this moment forward, Harry was as much hers as Dudley. He cried weakly and thrashed against her in confusion, and she could feel the heat radiating dangerously off his small body. He was so very small, and she remembered with a pang that he'd gone without a real meal for days now. "Shh, Love," she murmured to calm him. "Hush now. I've got you. You'll be all right now. I'll take care of you," she promised.

He ceased his struggles, though her vow could not be of much reassurance to him after all she had done – all she had _let_ be done to him. She cradled the boy close and carried him out of that small, awful cupboard, then placed him carefully on the kitchen counter as she hurriedly collected medicine from the cabinet and juice from the refrigerator.

"Here, my darling," she whispered, first holding the cup of juice to his lips. They were painfully cracked and dry, and she didn't even want to think how dehydrated he must be with this fever and sweating and no water in his cupboard. But Harry whimpered and refused the drink, beginning to cry again as she tried to force it upon him. "All right," she murmured. "Medicine first, then." She gave him no choice in this, gently but firmly gripping his head and forcing the spoonful of goopy stuff into his mouth and carefully rubbing his throat to make him swallow. He choked a bit and nearly gagged, but she kept whispering words of comfort until he calmed himself. Still, however, his thin little chest was rising and falling awfully quickly, and even when he grew quiet again he seemed to be breathing too swiftly.

Frowning to herself, she reached for the thermometer and stuck it in his ear, brushing back his damp hair as she waited for the chime. When the thermometer finished, she pulled it out and gasped at the terrible number: _40.2._

"Oh Harry," she breathed, once more loathing herself for allowing it to come to this. How he must have suffered tonight, without ever understanding why. She remembered the Dudley of her dream, who had crawled in bed with Lily and James after a nightmare and been instantly comforted and soothed, the adults wiping away his tears and telling him lovely stories until he slept again. Harry must have yearned for that comfort tonight, for a kind hand on his fevered brow and company to chase away the fears and the hurts. "Let's get you in a cool tub, shall we?" she asked unnecessarily; Harry was far too miserable to answer.

Petunia easily lifted the boy again, settling him on her hip and carrying him upstairs to the nursery bath. He flinched as they entered the tiny room, and she remembered the many times she plopped him in cold water and roughly slapped a bit of soap and shampoo on him, quickly rinsing him and patting him dry. It would never be that way again, but there was no sense telling Harry now. He was far too young to understand, and she could only hope that worked in her favour, that someday he would forget her cruel treatment and love her as she now realised she must love him. Lily would have loved Dudley, and so she would love Harry as her very own from this moment on.

It wasn't hard to do as she settled the tiny lump of boy in a tepid bath to lower his fever. He was too desperate for comfort to reject her, and he leaned into the soothing touch as she tenderly ran the washcloth over his too-warm skin. She had never truly noticed how he resembled Lily, how his eyes were her exact match and his little lips pouted just like hers. He looked so very much like his father, but he had a few of Lily's features and almost certainly her sweetness. He would not have been a difficult child to love if she had only let herself.

As she continued her ministrations, she noticed that his troubled breathing wasn't letting up as she'd hoped with the bath. In fact, he seemed to be getting worse, and his ribs were retracting with each gasp for air. "Harry?" she asked in concern. He tried to speak, but all he managed was a pitiful wheeze.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Without delay, she pulled him out of the water, wrapped him up in a towel, and bore him to Dudley's nursery, where she located the smallest clothes her son owned and bundled him up as best she could. He needed a hospital, that was certain, but how could they explain this? How could they explain how sick he'd become, why he hadn't been treated previously?

She frowned and rocked him in her arms to soothe him, not sure what to do. Surely someone would notice the neglect and begin to ask questions. He might be taken away from them, even Dudley, perhaps, if they thought she and Vernon were dangerous.

Harry shivered in her arms, and she looked down and noticed in alarm that his lips were turning a pale blue. That settled it instantly. "Vernon!" she cried, no longer worrying about her sleeping son. "Vernon, hurry, wake up!" she demanded.

"What is it, Pet?" he mumbled sleepily, letting out an indignant huff as she threw on the lights.

"Harry is ill. Terribly ill. We must take him to hospital," she insisted. "You grab Dudley. We must go now."

"Don't be absurd," Vernon scuffed. "He's only whinging about. You put him back in the cupboard. You can't coddle him, Pet, or he'll-"

"He has a horrid fever, Vernon!" she cried in outrage. "And he can hardly breathe. I'm taking him to hospital this instant, so either you come with me or-"

Vernon grumbled but begrudgingly agreed, tossing on his clothes as Petunia lay Harry on the bed so she could do the same. He was gazing off in the distance by the time she scooped him up again, and the tears returned full force as she prayed he would not be taken from her tonight. _Please, Lily,_ she begged her sister, hoping she was out there somewhere listening. _Do whatever you must, only help him! I promise it will all be different now. I'll love him, as you loved Dudley for me. _

The rest of the night was a painful blur. Doctors and nurses had ripped the limp boy from her arms and rushed him away from her, and then she had sobbed her way through filling out all manner of forms as Vernon tried to calm a fussing Dudley and shot her dirty looks. She hated him in those moments, hated that he was not worried along with her. In some ways, she felt he had forced this on her, that he had trained her not to love this child as she did her own. They agreed, early on, to take any measures necessary to drive the magic out of Harry, but she no longer cared about such petty nonsense, so long as Lily's son lived. If magic could save him, she would summon every witch and wizard to this place and swear her eternal allegiance. She would send Harry off to Hogwarts and write him letters every day telling him how very proud she was, how very much he reminded her of Lily. And she would never let a day go by that she didn't think of Lily and apologise for all that had gone wrong, for all the bitterness between them.

It seemed a painful irony that she should realise tonight how little it had ever mattered how different she and Lily were. It had taken that ridiculous dream to show her how love and forgiveness changed everything. In that other world, her nightmares came true and Dudley grew up different and somehow lacking. But he had never felt like a disappointment, never felt less special. Lily and James had gone out of their way to remind him he was as precious as Harry, and aside from a few moments of self-doubt, he never questioned his worth or how much he was loved. Dudley and Harry were each special in their own brilliant ways, as the spectre of her sister had shown to her tonight. Neither had to grow up mistreated and forgotten for the other to feel loved and cherished. Treating Harry as he deserved didn't mean Dudley would get left behind; Harry wouldn't have let that happen.

There was still time for them. They could grow up as brothers, if Harry pulled through. The ugliness could be forgotten by all but her own guilty heart if that precious little boy would just keep breathing.

Vernon and Dudley were dozing in the waiting room when the doctors finally retrieved her. She was led to a small room where Harry lay pale and lifeless in a bed, a long, clear tube emerging garishly from his slack lips. She raised a hand to cover her gasp and amazed herself with yet more tears; she would have thought them long dried up by now.

"Your nephew was a very lucky boy, Mrs. Dursley," the doctor informed her gravely. "He has pneumonia. He was in severe respiratory distress. I doubt he could have survived to morning."

"Oh Harry," she whispered and stepped to his bedside, carding her fingers through that messy black hair.

"Mrs. Dursley, I'll be frank with you. It's very rare that we see a previously healthy child with pneumonia this advanced. Healthy boys in England don't die from pneumonia, and it was a near thing with your nephew. Did you know he was ill? You indicated on his forms he wasn't being treated for anything."

The doctor sounded angry, but not nearly angry enough for the crime she committed against this child, against her sister. "I…I didn't know how sick he was. I thought it would pass," she managed weakly.

"It didn't pass," the doctor responded gruffly. "It turned into pneumonia, which clearly went unchecked for quite some time."

"You…you ought to take him from me," she whispered. She kept her hand on her nephew, not really aware of what she was saying…only that she had nearly killed him. The note she received the day he came to her claimed he had cheated death and defeated that horrid wizard that killed Lily and James, but it was his own aunt's neglect that very nearly wiped him from this world. "He's my sister's child," she explained softly as she stroked the downy soft hair. "We hadn't got on in many years. I never even saw her boy until…until she and her husband were murdered when Harry was an infant. I didn't want him," she shook her head. "I didn't want to look at him and be reminded of my sister. I've ignored him and mistreated him for three years. And now I've nearly killed him. You should take him from me."

"Mrs. Dursley," the doctor sighed heavily.

"I want to do better," she admitted. "I realised tonight what I was losing if I lost him. I know it's much too late for that, but…"

"Stay with him tonight," the doctor offered. "He's sedated and won't wake, but it's good for children to have someone familiar with them in hospital. We'll sort it in the morning, all right?"

She nodded gratefully, then turned to face him. "Will he be all right?"

"He's going to be here a while," the man advised sternly. "He's severely dehydrated, so we're giving him fluids and medicine through the IV, and he'll need respiratory support until he's able to breathe on his own again."

"But he will, won't he?" she asked anxiously.

"He's a very sick boy, Mrs. Dursley, but barring complications, he ought to be feeling better in a few weeks."

_Weeks,_ she thought miserably. Not hours, not even days. At least for now he was sleeping, unaware of what she had almost done to him and free of this world that had been so cruel to him. "I'll tell my husband he can go home with our son, and then I'll come back and stay with him," she said quietly.

"Very well," he nodded. "He'll be carefully monitored, but if you need someone, you can press this button," he instructed, showing her a tiny button to page the nurses. "Someone will be back to speak with you in the morning. Try to get some rest."

"Thank you, doctor," she agreed with a watery smile. Once he left, she spent a few more minutes stroking her nephew's hair and watching him sleep peacefully. It was a grotesque caricature to see him connected to tubes and machines, but at least his tiny brow was no longer knit in pain and his chest moved at a more normal, steady pattern. "I'll be right back, Love," she promised, bending down to kiss his pale forehead before going to find Vernon and Dudley and send them on their way.

True to her word, she stayed with the boy all night, only dozing for twenty or thirty minutes at a time before waking to watch him sleep some more. The sedation kept him still and quiet all night, and she ached to see his green eyes open or to hear some sound other than the rapid beats or the rhythmic whoosh. When morning finally came, a new doctor introduced himself and checked over Harry, declaring him as well as could be at this point and explaining a few of the test results. Petunia didn't really understood anything, except that Harry was very ill but would recover in time.

Vernon didn't call or check in on the boy, and she wept bitterly as she realised loving Harry may lose her the man she called her husband. She comforted herself by holding his tiny hands and taking the time to truly study him, categorising his features and determining which were from Lily, which were from James, and which were entirely his own. She had played the same game with Dudley, and she loved seeing him change and grow and look more and more like his daddy with each passing day. Harry's resemblance to James was remarkable, and she knew Lily would be so happy to see it.

At lunch, a social worker came by to speak with her. The doctor had reported Harry's situation, but the woman was shockingly understanding and agreed to release Harry back into Petunia's custody with a few stipulations. A social worker would be coming by twice a week, and Petunia and Vernon would both receive counselling. Of course, no one could actually know the true problem with Harry, but the animosity between the Potters and Dursleys seemed to be explanation enough for now.

That night, as Harry remained disturbingly still, Petunia wept at his bedside and considered her husband. He had shouted at her when she returned home to shower, change, and cook dinner for him and Dudley, insisting that she leave the boy alone at the hospital and attend to her husband and son. He hated magic as much as she had, but his hatred was born of fear and prejudice, not hurt feelings and grief.

"What do I do, Lily?" she whispered out loud as she gazed at her sister's legacy asleep in the bed.

But Lily didn't answer. Petunia slept that night hoping to be visited by more dreams, but nothing came. When she woke in the morning, there were no calls from Vernon, and Harry was still critically ill.

It took two more days before Harry was deemed well enough to be weaned from sedation and the ventilator. He still received oxygen through a tube under his nose, but he finally opened his lovely eyes and managed to respond to a few simple questions. "Hello, Harry," Petunia whispered as she reached for his hand.

To her surprise, he didn't shy away or flinch as he usually did when she came near. Instead, he just smiled that beautiful smile she remembered from her dream. "Hi, Aunt Tuney." His voice was scratchy, but she knew something miraculous had happened. He had never, ever called her that, and only Lily had ever called her 'Tuney.'

Her sister visited Harry's dreams as well, then. It seemed she was staying busy in her afterlife.

Later that afternoon, Harry let her sit in the bed with him and read him books the nurses brought. He was nestled against her, and she gladly held him close as they laughed over the storybooks together. He fell asleep soon after, still too sick to stay awake for long stretches at a time, and so when Vernon arrived, he found Petunia cradling her nephew as he slept in her arms.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Vernon sat down in the chair next to the bed. "How is he, then?" he asked gruffly.

"Better," she managed. "But it's slow."

"Well, he'll heal up quickly. Boys his age do."

_Not boys we starve and toss in cupboards, _she thought but could not say. "Things are going to change now, Vernon," she told him plainly. "I want Dudley's second bedroom fixed up for him. He'll need furniture and toys and clothes. No more of Dudley's castoffs."

"All right, then," he agreed after a long moment.

He remained quietly beside them both, reading a newspaper and drinking a tea, and it was only when he left that Petunia realised her sister hadn't been silent in this, either.

But it wasn't an easy road. Harry was an angel most of his stay in hospital, but sometimes his tight chest and painful coughing made him so miserable and irritable that he could only cry and whine in distress. Petunia struggled to comfort him and was exhausted each day as she tried attending to all the boys in her life. Dudley was no picnic, either, used to the undivided attention of his mum and unable to understand the sudden shift of dynamics in his family as he was shuffled aside momentarily so they could deal with Harry's illness. He cried for her and begged her not to leave when she went back to the hospital, but Harry cried every time she left. It was impossible to please them both, and she only hoped one day Dudley would accept Harry as his brother.

Harry ended up staying in hospital for nearly two weeks, his little lungs still weak and his cough fierce day after day after day. He had little appetite, but he was already too tiny to fight off illness and needed as much nutrition as he could get. It was a fight to spoon-feed him soup and applesauce each day, and sometimes it was all Petunia could do to escape to the bathroom to cry.

But then, too, were the moments when Harry laughed that beautiful laugh again, or laid his head against her breast and let himself be comforted. She saw her sister in his smile, and it was a balm to her tired, anxious soul. Each minute was worth it to watch the boy grow out of the shell they forced him into, to watch him overcome his fears and hesitations and become comfortable. He even did a bit of magic one day, which scared Petunia half to death. He was thirsty and couldn't reach his cup from the bed, and then suddenly it was floating to him. That was her first true test, and though her instinct was to scream and rail against him, she stepped into the hallway to take a few deep breaths instead.

_Magic did not kill Lily, _she reminded herself, _and your own stubborn pride took her away. This is what he is, it's who he is. Accept it or lose him forever._ A few more breaths, and she returned to his side, stroked his hair, and kissed his cheek so he knew all was well. He was still too young to understand this, and someday – probably sooner than she'd like – she'd explain it all to him in terms he could understand.

When he was finally released, Vernon and Dudley picked them up from the hospital. Petunia took his hand and showed him to his new room, pointing out all the new toys and the walls in shades of blues and greens, painted just for him. While he napped, safe and warm in his new bed, Petunia braved the dust and spiders in the attic to pull out an old photo album. It clearly showed its age and neglect, the pictures fading and the pages sticking slightly. But the smiles were still there, and Petunia shed a few tears for the sister she had loved, the sister she lost far before her time. Lily ought to be here to hold her baby, and it made Petunia's arms ache with phantom pain as she imagined being separated from her Dudley. Even that dream had made her hurt as she imagined being so, so far from her boy, and for the first time, she truly contemplated what Lily lost the night she died. The chance to see her son grow up, the chance to hold him when he cried, the chance to see the sort of man he became.

Photo album under her arm, she wandered downstairs and found Dudley playing on the floor with Vernon. He nodded at her, and she scooped up her boy and placed him on the couch. "Come, Sweetums. It's time for you to meet your Aunt Lily," she told him.

Later, after Harry had woken and eaten and had a bath, he was tucked back in bed with the promise of stories until he fell asleep. Dudley reluctantly agreed to join them, though he sat as far from his cousin as he could while still being on the bed with Mummy. As the stories went on, he forgot a little of his anger and inched closer. That night, the boys laughed together for the first time, and Petunia felt quite certain this would all work out after all.

* * *

><p>VII. Petunia was standing in a field of brilliant flowers, a field she felt quite sure she stood in once, long ago, in some distant memory. She felt warm and safe and loved here, and even though she was quite alone, she felt someone else here, someone she loved with all her heart.<p>

She closed her eyes and let the presence grow. When she opened them again, Lily was standing before her. She was more beautiful than Petunia had ever seen her, her red hair still vibrant and her eyes still brilliant green, but her skin more pale and glowing and her smile more peaceful and content. "Hi, Tuney," she greeted quietly.

"Oh Lily," she breathed.

Before she could cry, her sister's arms were wrapped her arms. "I know, Tuney, I know," her lovely voice soothed.

"I'm doing better now. I'm trying. I really am."

"I know you are. I know you always will."

"But I didn't," she shook her head. "I failed him. I nearly killed him."

"He's happy and he's loved, and you will never hurt him again," Lily vowed.

"How can you be so sure? What if I-"

"You won't," Lily stopped her. "Things work a bit differently for me, Petunia. I can't see everything, and I wouldn't want to. But I know that Harry is going to grow up safe and strong and happy and that you will never harm him again."

"You're certain?"

"Positive."

"Oh Lily. Oh, thank you. I've been…I've felt so awful."

"Me too," her sister whispered.

"You tried," she countered weakly. "You sent a present for Dudley, and you-"

"No more keeping score, Tuney. What matters is that for the moment, you and I are both here, together. And I love you. So very much."

"I love you, too. And I miss you. I miss you every day."

"I'm right here with you," Lily smiled. "So let's sit, and you can tell me all about your life."

Petunia did.

* * *

><p>VIII.<em> Harry,<em>

_How are you? How is Hogwarts? I was thinking maybe you could see if you could get a picture of the castle. I think it'd be really cool to see! Is it huge? Are there lots of people? Are you learning wicked stuff, like maybe how to turn someone into a frog? I've met a few people at school that maybe you can help me with._

_Smeltings isn't so bad. I don't know how much I'll like it. It'd be loads better with you here, but after you accidentally blew up that vase last week, maybe a big castle is better. Promise you'll write and tell me everything._

_I have to do my maths now. I hope there are no maths at Hogwarts. It's hard at Smeltings and the teacher is ugly and mean. How are yours? Made any friends yet?_

_Write soon!_

_Dudley_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Harry,<em>

_We received your last letter. Yes, we. I hope you have not forgotten you have an uncle, as well as an aunt, and will kindly include me in any such future news you have to share. Congratulations on your sorting. It all sounds a bit weird, and I'd ask you kindly to leave any talking clothing items in the castle when you come home for Christmas. _

_The house is awfully quiet without you. There is also much less broken glass and nary a floating pet. I suspect it will remain boring until you return, and we anxiously await the holidays and the chaos you bring with you. I trust you are trying your hardest in all your studies and respecting your professors. No cheek, boy! I suspect you cannot avoid a bit of mischief, but remember your manners and you'll do us proud._

_I am relieved to hear you were met with friendly sorts in your first days. You always make friends easily, but it does ease my worries to hear that you are settling in nicely. I hope to hear soon that you are also working hard and enjoying at least one or two of your subjects, though I do not claim to understand precisely what you will be studying. _

_We look forward to hearing from you again soon. And do not forget, Harry, that I do in fact mean WE._

_Uncle Vernon_

* * *

><p><em>My Dearest Harry,<em>

_Congratulations, Love! You are so very much like your mum that I had few doubts about your Sorting, but I am so happy and proud to hear that you have made the same House as your parents. You have already made them so proud, Harry, and I know you will continue to do so. I hope you also never forget how wonderfully proud I am of you. Your uncle is more reluctant to say it, but he was quite chuffed to hear how well you are doing. I remember Lily often wearing scarlet and gold, her house colours, so you ought to watch your mail closely for a few treats coming your way in the very near future. I'm afraid this old empty house seems quite lonely without you and Dudley, and I suspect I will spend a lot of time knitting and baking in your absence!_

_Sweetheart, I am so happy to hear that you are making friends and adjusting to Hogwarts. I worry about you, constantly, but I know you will truly be just fine, just like your mum and dad. You have your mother's kindness, Harry, as well as her sharp mind. As you know, I did not know your father well, but he was charming and funny and had many friends, and I see those same traits in you. But never forget that as much as you are like your parents, you are also just Harry. My sweet Harry, who will undoubtedly get himself into a good deal of mischief but also look out for his friends and always strive to do what is right. You are so brave, Love, but remember that anytime you need me, I am only a letter away. And remember also that your mum and dad will always be with you, watching over you, keeping you safe._

_Be good, Harry. Be safe. We miss you terribly and have already started counting the days until Christmas. _

_All my love,_

_Aunt Petunia _


End file.
